Of Dogs and demons
by Elenelathuin
Summary: a random dog and strange premonitions lead the witches to a demon that can't be killed...but can certainly kill them


Of Dogs and Demons  
  
Chapter 1  
  
As sunlight filtered through the silent streets of San Francisco; its warm light tinting the sky with pink and gold, Phoebe Halliwell sat huddled in a thick blanket watching the heavens slowly changing colour. Why she was sat just there is of no importance to this story, it is merely important that she was in that place at that time.  
  
The witch's eyes lowered from the brightening sky only to halt, captured by a frozen gaze of icy blue. Brown eyes met with orbs of cold blue laced with snowy white and clear grey, like the tip of an iceberg in a captured storm, and like this too the eyes seemed to hide far more than they revealed.  
  
Phoebe blinked and as she did so realised to whom those bleak winter eyes belonged, for they were set not in the face of a man, woman or demon, but in that of a dog. The creature perfectly suited his eyes; a wolfish breed with powerful muscles below white/silver fur, layered at the throat almost like a mane. Although the animal was silent and still in appearance there was something in its manner which suggested a tension in the air around it, like barely controlled energy waiting to be unleashed. To put it simply the creature was unmistakably wild, a winter white dog with all the characteristics of an arctic wolf and almost mystical, frigid blue eyes.  
  
All this became apparent to Phoebe in a moment as barely a second after those frozen eyes had met her own all sight was lost to the witch as darkness closed in around her. As her sight returned the familiar view of San Francisco had vanished leaving in its place a large, empty room lit be flickering candles. Stood before the witch was a tall, blond man with cold, clear blue eyes. His long hair was drawn back from his hansom face to hang at the back of his neck, secured in a twisted band of black leather.  
  
His clothes were fashioned from jet and charcoal material, embroidered in places with silken thread; giving the impression of great wealth. Although the style was at least a hundred years out of date to Phoebe's limited historical knowledge. In his hand the man held a thick cane of blackened wood, probably ebony, topped with a silver grip and diamond pommel.  
  
A discerning smile wandered across the man's face, lingering for a moment on his cruel but sensuous lips before fading again.  
  
Phoebe noticed that it never seemed to have reached his icy eyes. She shivered, or would have done had she actually been in the presence of this so obviously evil man. But; she then realised, this was little more than a vision, a premonition to warn or scare her. It was certainly doing a good job of the latter.  
  
As the realisation hit her the man suddenly strode forward, straight through where she would have been standing had she actually been inn that place. Before the cold eyes man cowered a much smaller figure dressed in rags, his dark skin and clothes were covered in dirt and his black hair hung in loose, ribbon tied dread locks to his shoulders.  
  
"Dey say dat you are a witch doctor," The blond man spoke, his voice touched with superiority and boredom, "Dey want me to kill you."  
  
The other man hissed in a dark and forgotten language, his harsh voice reverberating around the empty room. With a sudden motion he drew from the depths of his rags one of the strangest weapons Phoebe had ever seen, and being one of the charmed ones she had viewed many strange weapons. The man not held a dagger the blade of which was so dark that in the flickering candle light of that place it appeared to be deer purple. This in itself was not overly strange, but the hilt of the blade was; the grip was not itself visible being hidden within the witch doctor's hand, the guard on the other hand was, this had been formed into a serpentine shape twisting around the protect the wielder's hand, its tail creating a quilion to trap an enemy's weapon. Then there was the pommel, a scull shaped stone, or at least Phoebe hoped that it was merely a stone, surrounded by strings of brightly coloured beads that rattled together as the weapon was drawn.  
  
The blond man laughed as the blade flashed towards him and seemed to avoid it without moving a muscle. As the strange blade slashed towards him again he griped his cane in one hand, its pommel in the other, gave a sharp pull so that it appeared to split in two revealing the long thin blade that had been sheathed there.  
  
The witch doctor had barely begun a new attack when the other blade was brought to meet his own, with a grin the cold eyed attacker flicked the skull topped blade away before using the ebony sheath to knock the witch doctor to the ground.  
  
"Dat worked well didn't it mon amie?" he asked with his strange accent that Phoebe thought sounded slightly French, it reminded her of the French quarter of New Orleans. "Do you really want to die? If de answer to dat yes why not try to attack me again and I can kill you, if not...listen carefully." The witch doctor didn't move. "I want you to find me a witch."  
  
"Why?" He asked in a gruff voice.  
  
"Because I want to kill one."  
  
As suddenly as it had begun the vision ended and Phoebe found herself alone again outside the mansion. 


End file.
